


Sweet as the Devil

by AstraKiseki



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Fast Food, Fluff, Food Porn, Gen, M/M, Short Chapters, Sweet Tea, Traumatizing Hannibal For Fun And Profit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstraKiseki/pseuds/AstraKiseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You really can't get a good glass of sweet tea in Baltimore.  Only thing to do is make it yourself, Mr. Graham.</p>
<p>Who knows?  Maybe it'll do you some good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closer to Home

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to withoutalicense for listening to my babbling and titling this thing, azanerth for discussing food with me, and an apology to Telera for being too impatient with the first chapter to let her beta-read my first attempt at writing Will. I promise you'll see the second chapter, I'm just way too excited I wrote _something_ with a canon character.
> 
> I swear, when I do a second work, it'll be longer, I'm just getting used to writing someone already defined and getting back on the horse.

It was like just about every other fast food joint in Baltimore: stark, clean, with fluorescent lighting and a far-too-cheerful teenager waiting to take an order.  William Graham generally avoided eating at them, unless they were empty in some way, either by the drive-through or the building itself, but now, with blood seeping into his vision and the smell of death lingering, the empty smell of oil and cleaner and blank lighting was almost soothing.  
  
At least it was enough for the agent to make his order without a stutter, and to seem normal enough that the girl only named the cost of his order without asking anything else, like about the murder that was across the parking lot, behind the liquor store.  
  
Will slid his hand down to his wallet, fishing out the dollar and dime before he sets them on the counter and pushes them across to the chipper girl behind the register.  A tan hand set two pennies in front of him and he glanced up just in time for her to turn away to get what he had ordered.  
  
Once he had his prize, with a muttered 'thank you,' Will left the bleach-white halls, into the humid gloom outside of the restaurant, wrapping his lips about the straw and taking a long slurp before his handsome expression twisted into a grimace.  It wasn't perfect, but it was the closest thing to what he was looking for, a not-quite-enough sweetness with traces of stale tea in his mouth and down his throat.  Of course, he was a thousand miles away from New Orleans, of course, there wasn't a proper pitcher of sweet tea in within a hundred miles when he had a hankering for it.  
  
William sighed, looking down at the cup.  While it wasn't the right taste, not close enough, at least it hit the spot about as well as he could aim with a firearm, and it was _there_ , something real, something vaguely like home and bringing him back to a time where he didn't have to think of serial killers or designs.  It would do the trick, at least, and even as he drank down the iced tea, the feverish smell in his nostrils was pushed away by the flood of cold in his stomach.  
  
It had been Beverly's idea, noticing the advertisement on the side of the wall proclaiming McDonald's was serving the tea and remembering he was from the South, and while Will hadn't been excited, he had expected exactly what he got. And yet, oddly, that confirmation of his perceptions was surprisingly comforting to Will's frazzled nerves.  It was enough that when he returned to behind the store, the faces of the FBI watching him, he simply smiled and took another sip before he went back to work.


	2. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took longer than expected. I've been fighting a nasty cough, figuring out how to write Hannibal (and then copping out), and then doing something rather insane at a certain panel.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the tiny bit of food porn I put in here, and I apologize if it looks wrong. I really do not like tomatoes or spicy food, so I'm relying on the brilliance and passion of other foodies here.

It didn't come to much of a surprise to Will that Hannibal made an inquiry about the visitation the next week, in one of their informal therapy sessions. The doctor likely had witnessed the agent quickly tossing out a certain yellow-red-and-white cup into the dumpster as he had arrived on the scene in anticipation of another one of Will's episodes.

Or maybe he smelled the stale tea, on his breath when he had exchanged words with the doctor that day, or today, as Will had stopped for another cup at lunch. It was already intensely comforting after only a few days, much to Beverly's relief every time he stopped to get some of the terrible tea on their way to a scene or to the lab. Still, there William sat across from the man in his lavish study, ever-so-slightly intimidated by how small he felt in the room, on the couch, with the faint downward curve of the doctor's plush lips after the man had asked about his recent eating habits.

Instead, Will had tried a different approach, which had led him to now having to explain Louisiana cooking to a man whose only experience with the sort of food Will remembered best was in its parts, not the sum, who had far more refined tastes than Will ever could imagine. How did a guy explain a proper po'boy, piled high with shrimp with crunch bestowed by cornmeal, it had to be cornmeal, and heat in your mouth and your tongue from a little hot sauce, with the crispy lettuce dressed and tossed with mayonnaise and the sweet-sour bite of a pickle and the light sweetness of a freshly sliced tomato? Or the thick taste of a good gumbo, simmered for hours and hours with tomatoes and bell peppers and celery and onion, practically cooked down into a mush that pillowed the variety of meats and contrasted with the ever-so-slight bite of hot rice and with just the right kick of spices? And heaven forbid the health-conscious doctor even considering anything else deep-fried!

What it all meant was that Will's jaw found itself slack when Hannibal seemed moved by his speech, his faint eyebrows raised and brownish-red eyes twinkling slightly as he determined that he would have to see Will in that element, making something from home at his domicile.

Perhaps stupidly, the recipe that had come to mind was what had started the whole discussion, something Will could ask Hannibal to keep in stock at his house, provided William showed him how to make it just right, and indeed, it's what came out of his mouth. Hannibal had contemplated it for a moment before agreeing.

Something told Will that his psychiatrist was going to eat those words.


	3. A Little Bit Sweeter

First, it was the fact Will had to take one of the dogs to the vet the day after, and then teaching and grading papers, and the days after were stolen away by Hannibal's appointments and more paperwork for Will, until finally, Will was finally looming over a familiar smelling pot of tea, waiting for the dark liquid to diffuse into the filtered water.  On the counter was the pitcher Hannibal had left, and a container of sugar.  Unfortunately, the good doctor likely didn't realize what was going to happen to that bowl soon.  
  
Dr. Lecter had left the room for a few minutes, excusing himself for the restroom, which gave Will enough time to find a ladle, then take a nice long sip of the hot tea.  
  
There was that familiar grain on the tip of his tongue, a tang like heated iron that promised a soothing chill once it had time in the fridge.  While he understood Hannibal's choice of better quality teas, a few sitting in clear, air-tight containers, the need to provide a better selection, Will had made a stop to purchase the teabags he had needed, and had quietly dumped several of the tea bags into the pot of boiling when Hannibal hadn't been watching.  It was like making homemade mac when he just wanted something more... Krafted.  
  
The poor wordplay made Will snicker just a little, wishing he had thought of that example during the appointment.  
  
"And what is entertaining you so much, Will?"  
  
Will had to fight to keep himself from laughing at the flat tone of Hannibal's voice.  Instead, he reached out for the pitcher across the counter, carefully pouring the hot tea into the glass before he leaned forward, pressing his chest against the coolness of the stone.  While he knew it put him into a vulnerable position, rear up in the air, it was the easiest way to make certain he had a better vantage point to watch the bottom of the pitcher.  "You see, Dr. Lecter, it's supposed to be _sweet_ tea."  Carefully, he lifted another scoopful of sugar and dumped it into the glass before he took the rod next to him and started to stir.  "And when I mean sweet, I mean it has to make you think about taking some insulin along with it."  
  
In between clinks of glass on glass, ice on glass, Will continued as the good doctor remained silent, his blue eyes focused on the bottom of the pitcher.  "You got to make sure you can see granules of sugar at the bottom, that's how you can tell."  He lifted another cup of sugar to the lip of the pitcher, slowly, gently tapping it into the amber-colored liquid.  He could see Dr. Lecter's perfectly blank face in the reflection of the glass as he stirred, watching the sugar become one with the tea.  
  
"I hardly believe that is exactly healthy."  
  
Will shrugged as he gripped the ladle handle and took an experimental sip of the still-hot tea.  "It isn't."  He shook his head as he carefully ran his tongue across his lips, to catch the last of the metallic fog on his lips, the lingering taste of grass and flowers.  He gave the sugar bowl another appraising look.  "Not quite there.  Gotta be as sweet as the devil."   
  
"An interesting analogy for you, Will."    
  
"Well, you haven't heard some of the phrases down South."  Another scoopful of sugar found itself into the pot before he returned to his stirring, the rod going about in circles, each lap about dissolving more and more of the sugar.  "Things like so good it'll make you want to slap your mama, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, to name two at least."    
  
"No, I have not.  I am also certain that buttering-"  Will could feel his therapist's eyes resting on him as he peered at the dark tea, smiling mildly even as Will gave up and just poured the rest of the sugar into the pitcher.  For a moment, the agent could have sworn that he saw the man's lips _twitch_.  "-yourself up would be better done with lotion, not with a dairy product.  However, under the circumstances, I would suggest that perhaps you should be more careful with yourself."  
  
"With as broken as I am?"  Will's eyes flick back to Hannibal's solemn face, with its bittersweet expression, a faint tugging of those sinful lips before Will continues to stir.  After he saw the sugar dissolved, he let his gaze fall down to the bottom of the pitcher to confirm that yes, there were sugar crystals at the bottom, that the tea was completely saturated with the white crystals.   "Now, all we have to do is put it in the fridge and forget about it until it's cold."  It felt odd to Will to put the pitcher into Hannibal's fridge, the glass looking out-of-place among the vegetables, the bottles of wine with pretentious French names that he could pronounce but not understand, and the exotic cuts of meat.  "Then, we can try it."  
  
He looks up at Hannibal with an expectant grin.  "And I can tell you all about good old Southern cooking while we wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't write Hannibal. Anyway, after this, it's the epilogue and then I'm done. God only knows how I'm writing it.


End file.
